


The One Where They Accidentally Get High

by Redlance



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Crack Fic, F/F, Fluff, Trigger warning: drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:43:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redlance/pseuds/Redlance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After coming into contact with a particularly potent artifact, Myka and H.G. 'suffer' the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where They Accidentally Get High

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : Warehouse 13, the world and the characters that inhabit it do not belong to me in any way, though sometimes I lie awake at night wishing that they did and what I'd do with them if they did. And then I write those thoughts down.
> 
>  **A/N** : So this fic was inspired by [this gifset](http://helenastacie.tumblr.com/post/37647670410) made by helenastacie over on tumblr. I tried to get people to talk me out of writing it, but I was only encouraged. So, you can blame this one entirely on tumblr. Crack ahead. Also semi-smut. Trigger warning for drugs.

* * *

     The thing was, the retrieval had gone off without a hitch. They'd tracked down Queen Victoria's hooka – Myka had had to restrain herself from asking too many questions about **that** – and bagged it with ease. It was astounding what miscreant youths who had been baked until crisp would hand over in exchange for cheetos and microwavable hamburgers. Helena had complained about the smell of their room and that the cannabis fog would be clinging to her for days, but she'd admitted that it was a far sight better than the opium dens she'd encountered in her day. They were filling out paperwork on a plane back to South Dakota within twelve hours; as far as assignments went, it had been a pretty darn smooth one.  
     Of course, that was until they'd arrived back at Leena's.  
     Helena had disappeared upstairs about a half hour ago complaining that she was feeling a bit light-headed and Myka hadn't thought much past insisting she go lie down at the time.  
     After grabbing a quick post-flight snack that consisted mainly of crackers and crème cheese, Myka made her way to the upper floor and paused when she reached the landing. Checking on H.G. would be the friendly, considerate thing to do. Not at all like stalking in this instance. She crept towards the inventors room, treading softly so as not to wake her should she be sleeping, and hesitantly jabbed a fingertip against the surface of the door that was laying ajar. It creaked as it swung inward to give Myka a view of half the room and the bottom of Helena's bed. She poked the door again.  
     “Myka?” H.G.'s voice was void of drowsiness, though Myka paid enough attention to notice the unusual lilt to it. “Is that you?” Gripping the edge of the door, she craned her head around it and smiled at the woman lying on her back beneath the covers.  
     “Yeah. Sorry, did I wake you?” Helena shook her head.  
     “Not at all. I was just staring at the ceiling. They're quite wonderful contraptions, aren't they?” Myka stepped into the room, quietly closing the door behind her.  
     “Ceilings?” She asked with a frown, glancing up at the entirely uninteresting one currently situated over their heads and then back at the reclining woman. “Yeah, they're pretty great.” There was a beat of silence as Myka moved towards the bed. “Helena, are you okay?” The inventor hummed contentedly, but didn't offer any other verbal confirmation. She had a hand flung over her head, bent at the elbow, the fingers of it playing with her hair. Myka watched as she looped a lock around her finger and then drew her hand away from her head, letting it fall against her face. She chuckled.  
     “My hair is so soft.” She let her head loll to the side and beamed at Myka, reaching out towards her with her free hand. “Come here, touch it.” Myka came to a positively whiplash-inducing stop, eyebrows almost grazing her hairline.  
     “What?” She asked, wondering if the question sounded as strangled to H.G. as it did to her, but Helena gave no indication that she'd noticed at all.  
     “You're always so tightly wound, darling.” The woman on the bed gave a dramatic sigh, blowing the hair from her face and continuing in a tone that was very matter-of-fact. “Just touch it, I know you want to. I promise it'll make you feel better.” Heat flared along the back of Myka's neck, flushing her face and making her feel as though someone had just cranked the thermostat to ninety. She swallowed, trying to force down the anxiety that had crept up to tighten her throat, and stooped so that she was bending over the bed. Helena's dark eyes glittered up at her, a playful smile painted across her lips. “Now that's much better.” Doing her best to ignore her, Myka pressed the back of her hand against Helena's forehead, frowned, and then dropped lower to press her lips to the same spot. “This is not how I'd imagined our first kiss would play out.” It took all of Myka's efforts and years of honing her powers of control to not baulk at the statement. She straightened, feeling the burn in her cheeks and trying to ignore it.  
“You're not hot.” She commented, sweeping her gaze over Helena in an attempt to assess her condition. She could practically **hear** the woman's pout as it formed.  
     “Myka, your bluntness wounds me.” Frustrated, Myka brought her hands up to her hair and she brushed her curls behind her ears, closing her eyes momentarily to gather her strength.  
     “Your **temperature** , Helena.” And it was as she had her eyes closed that a vision of Queen Victoria's hooka popped up in all its intricately decorated glory. Her eyes flew open. “Oh god, you're high.” Helena chuckled, almost giggled, and the sight was so unlike anything Myka had seen she simply stood there dumbfounded for a few seconds.  
     “As a kite.” She added, annunciating slowly. She blinked lazily at the ceiling. “You know, I remember this feeling quite well. I'd have thought after a hundred years I might not recall it with such ease, but it's still there. Clear as day.” Myka blinked, and like a butterfly brushing against a house of cards, the motion seemed to trigger her panic.  
     “You're **high**.” She repeated, spinning in a circle and gazing around the room as if the answer to the problem would be sitting in Helena's armchair. “Okay, okay. It's okay. What was-- what did Artie say the wear off time was?” Helena continued to gaze at the ceiling.  
     “My mother used to make the most wonderful pastries,” she said eventually, “lovely little jam-filled things. I'd give anything for one of those right now.”  
     “Helena!” The inventor let her head loll to the side once more, brown eyes too-wide as she peered at Myka. “How long did Artie say this lasts for?” H.G. jerked her shoulder in what Myka assumed was supposed to be a shrug.  
     “Haven't the foggiest.” Myka let out a groan of frustration. “He mentioned wearing the gloves to protect against a contact high and then...” she let out another short peal of laughter, “everything's a bit fuzzy, I'm afraid.” Myka's arms dropped to her sides like dead weights.  
     “A contact high.” She repeated, eyes going glassy as she withdrew into herself, recalling the information she'd been told. “The artifact must have whammied you when you were neutralizing it and now anyone you touch...” she trailed off, staring at the hand she'd used to check Helena for a fever and then lifting it to press her fingers to her lips. “Or anyone who touches you, will also be affected.” They all knew that the gloves they used to handle artifacts were a precaution, not a guarantee. Sometimes the more potent ones slipped through and it seemed as though the hooka was one of the ones that did. “Oh this is, this is-” her sentence cut off abruptly and she lifted her hand from her mouth to cover her eyes with her palm. Dizziness grasped her by the crown of her head and gave her a violent shake, sending the darkness spinning. She swayed on her feet, then felt a hand close around her own and tug her forward. She collapsed onto the bed, inelegantly sprawling across it face first, and heard Helena expel another airy chuckle from somewhere beside her.  
     “Oh, if only I'd know this would be all it took to get you into my bed.” Myka rolled her eyes best she could with her face planted in the comforter. Her tongue felt thick and lethargic inside her mouth, as if it had suddenly been replaced with a thick wad of cotton. She hauled herself over, rolling right onto Helena's legs before sitting up.  
     “I've never been stoned in my life.” She blurted, suddenly mournful, mouth pulling downward at the corners. “My dad would be so mad at me.” Helena made a noise of discontentment and prodded Myka at the base of her spine with a toe.  
     “What your father doesn't know can't possibly affect him.” She said, adopting an air of wise regality that had no business being anywhere near her in her current condition. “You're a grown woman and may do as you please.” A salacious grin curved Helena's lips. “With **whomever** you please.” Myka lazily rolled her head in a semi-circle until she was facing the smirking inventor, who did her very best to plaster on a look of innocence at the last second. Unfortunately for H.G., her wicked streak was simply too vibrant to be covered completely.  
     “You suck.” She countered and the lameness of the retort was instantly evident to both of them. With a groan of annoyance, Myka flopped backward onto the bed, once more lying across Helena's legs. The limbs jostled her slightly, purposefully.  
     “Only if you ask very, very nicely.” Myka lifted her hands, pressing them tightly against her cheeks and squishing her face so that her lips pursed and jutted out.  
     “If Artie finds out we got high off an artifact-” The jostling became more violent, cutting Myka off and eventually forcing her to wiggle over and off them.  
     “Oh, why are we talking about him?” She complained, wearing a pained expression. “Let's talk about something **fun**.” Myka threw an arm across her face, covering her eyes. “Tell me darling, have you and Pete never....” She trailed off, leaving the question pointedly unfinished.  
     “I think I'm going to be sick.” Myka's face felt hot and flushed, clammy, and the back of her neck prickled uncomfortably.  
     “It will pass. As long as you're not the type inclined to paranoid tendencies.” Helena pursed her lips. “Though I suppose that offers a suitable answer to my question.”  
     “That wasn't a question,” Myka groaned, “it was the verbalisation of a nightmare.” Tinkling laughter floated toward her and suddenly the nausea began to abate. She shifted her arm, letting it slide slowly back to the bedspread. “Ceilings really are...” she shook her head in something akin to wonderment as she stared up at it, “just great.” Helena beamed.  
     “I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking.”

* * *

     Myka wasn't sure exactly how long they'd been sitting there. Helena still sprawled on the bed, Myka having moved to drop horizontally into the armchair with her legs draped over the side. Staring at the clock had resulted in a very in depth discussion about how time was the universal equaliser. Man, women, children, rich, poor, people of all races, every one of them bowed before its might hands. Every one of them were powerless against it.  
     “Except you.” Myka had commented, fuzzy brain unable to filter out the edge of proud awe to her voice. Helena had smiled at her. And then that comment had led to an equally in depth discussion about just how marvellous H.G.'s time machine had been and how “it sucked” - Myka's words – that it was no longer functional. “The sixties were so amazing.” She'd said drowsily. “You know, except for all the smashed up dead women.” Which had resulted in Myka gushing over H.G. in general. Just a little. Which was okay for the moment, because thoughts of how she'd feel about her words tomorrow could not have been further from her mind.  
     Suddenly, Helena sat bolt upright, dragging Myka's attention from the floral wallpaper of the room and the little villages of patterns and shapes she'd found within.  
     “I'm famished.” She announced, brows knitted together in a frown. “Do you suppose Pete left any of Arthur's cookies unscathed?” Myka cocked an eyebrow at her and barked a laugh.  
     “Pete doesn't leave crumbs behind.” She said, reaching up to scratch the tip of her nose. “Leena caught him licking the plate once.” Helena chuckled, falling back against the pillows. Myka tilted her head back over the side of the arm, watching the other woman as she descended into a giggling madness Myka hadn't previously thought her capable of. “She made him hand wash every single piece of dish wear in the house.” Myka's smile stretched wide, utterly ignoring any attempt to control it as she watched, a warmth blossoming in her chest that she could recall had made her feel a little uncomfortable before. Stifled maybe. But now all it did was make her feel giddy and goofy. Idly, she wondered if this was how Pete felt most of the time. “Do you think they know?” She said in an exaggerated conspiratorial whisper after a moment. Helena hiked an eyebrow.  
     “That we've unintentionally imbibed narcotics?” She was slurring her words, ever so slightly, making them run together and sound fuzzy at the edges. She huffed a laugh, one that sounded highly amused by the implication. “They've not seen us yet this evening.” She reminded Myka. “And I'm a rather wonderful actress. I dare say it's you I’d be worried about them setting the dogs on.” Helena let her head fall to the side so that she was looking directly at the woman across from her. Her lids hung low over her eyes, lips parted in a way that seemed impossibly seductive as she drew in her breaths. “You're so terribly far away,” she said at length, tone low and husky. She reached out with a heavy arm, beckoning Myka towards her. “Come join me on the bed.” Myka furrowed her brow at H.G.'s tone and then flung an arm back to point an accusatory finger in her direction.  
     “You're such a bad, bad Victorian... Victorian... author?” her frown deepened, hand drooping as a thought occurred to her, “How come we've never talked about your **exact** involvement with your books? It's kind of confusing.” Helena rolled her eyes and a groan of frustration slipped from her.  
     “Because I'm not in the habit of telling long, dreadfully boring stories. Now will you please come lie next to me? I'm feeling awfully alone with you all the way over there.” With some effort, Myka managed to right herself and get to her feet. She moved towards the bed, steps stilted and sluggish, but stopped abruptly before she reached it, a look of excitement flashing across her face.  
     “Maybe we can sleep it off!” She exclaimed, with all the enthusiasm of a professional crossword-solver who'd finally worked out the answer to a clue they'd spent their entire life plagued by. “H.G., you're a genius.” Helena flashed her a smile and then pulled back the covers, impatiently.  
     “I know.” She patted the spot she'd just revealed beside her, but Myka waved a hand. Then, she brought her hands to the waistband of her jeans and began fiddling with the button. Helena emitted a short giggle and then ran her fingers through her hair. “I've often wondered what you'd look like out of those.” She muttered, watching as Myka swayed a little on the spot and grunted a decidedly unladylike response at her. Myka shuffled towards the bed, unzipping her pants along the way, and then clambered onto it. She flopped onto her back and went to work pushing the jeans down over her hips.  
     “I can't sleep in these.” She said by way of an explanation as she caught H.G.'s curious expression, but the inventor didn't seem to be paying too much attention to her words. Then, picking up a cue that seemed obvious, Helena began unbuttoning her shirt. Myka's body started to grow heavy as she struggled, as if all the strength was being siphoned out of her. Huffing, she kicked her legs up and caught the end of a pant leg between her fingers. “Ah ha!” Victorious, she grabbed hold of the other and started to pull. Helena's laughter was raucous, wondrously uninhibited, and it rang in Myka's ears like music as she bounced back into a sitting position. And there she sat, weight braced on her hands planted against the fluffy comforter on either side of her body, just watching. There was a buzzing in her head that was not entirely unpleasant and a tingling of her skin that made her feel oddly alive, despite her lethargy. Her eyes drifted over the body of the woman laid out before her; freckle-dashed chest peaking out from between her parted shirt, mouth curved into an irresistible smile, hair immaculately dishevelled.  
     “You're staring.” Helena said, the amusement in her voice evident. Myka released the lip she hadn't knowingly been worrying, but didn't smile at the accusation. Nor did she so much as look up. Her gaze was fixed on the perfectly crooked smile shaping lips that Myka could **not** stop thinking about kissing. Abruptly, she pitched sideways, falling onto all fours and clambering her way up the inventor's body. Helena lay as still as a statue, only her eyes betraying her as anything but as they darted about Myka's approaching face.  
     “Can I just try....” And that was all Myka said before she leaned in and pressed her lips to Helena's.  
     If she thought she'd been high before, then this was what astronauts must feel, because Myka was seeing stars and planets and solar systems and things as bright as suns, all behind closed eyes. She sighed against Helena's mouth, feeling that last remnant of strength, or perhaps restraint, be siphoned out of her and flicker into nothingness. And then there was nothing left to hold her back.  
     She surged forward, feeling the press of their bodies between their clothes, and her low groan at the feel of H.G.'s hands against the skin of her thighs turned into a moan as the mouth against hers opened and she was falling deeper and deeper into a kiss that she never wanted to end. Their tongues brushed almost absently at first, but as Myka's hands balled fistfuls of blanket in them, she gave chase. She was drowning in a sea of endorphins, feeling each molecule with every sweep of Helena's tongue against hers, and for a brief moment, she was a teenager again. Having her very first make out sessions with Brad McAllister in the front seat of his Honda civic. Then slender fingers were slipping beneath the hem of her shirt and she was back in the room with H.G.'s hands setting fire to her flesh. She wrenched her mouth away to release a gasp of surprised pleasure and drag in a lungful of air.  
     “Your skin feels like velvet.” Helena said, an edge of wonderment to her voice. Her fingers ran continuous lines along the length of Myka's back, making the taller woman twitch and whimper quietly. “Like I'm touching the night sky.” Myka had no words left for her, only actions. She caught the inventor's lips in a kiss that threatened to steal the breath she'd so recently garnered for herself and she was gone again. Flying through that same night sky H.G. had spoken of, surrounded by soft, wet warmth and there was nothing but Helena and her mouth and hands and body. Myka imagined that it felt a lot like heaven. She took herself out of the kiss only far enough to draw her teeth together around Helena's lower lip and suck it into her mouth. She felt Helena's body arch beneath her and a bolt of arousal shot through her that blasted the low hanging fog of it she's been lost in to pieces. “You taste like clouds.” She said drunkenly, not really knowing what it meant or caring, and watching for only a second as Helena craned her neck in order to reach her before giving in.  
     They lay there for a small eternity, trading passionate kisses turned lazy and back again until Helena's hands drifted down to grip Myka's hips. And it was only then, as Helena squeezed her hands and then relaxed, almost kneading the flesh there, that Myka realised what she was doing. But even as the knowledge hit her, her hips continued to rock at a slow pace against the thigh entrapped between her legs. The motion sent overwhelming ripples of pleasure through her, setting her nerves alight and sending bolts of heat leaping along her spine now that she was aware of her movements. It set spark to a fuse buried somewhere inside of her, one that was itching to run its course and trigger an inevitable explosion.  
     Helena's hands jerked, pulling her down with an unexpected force and disengaging Myka from the kiss to leave her parted lips still touching H.G.'s as a broken moan rushed from between them. She held perfectly still for a few sputtering heartbeats and then with an anticipatory breath that she drew in and held, she rolled her hips downward.  
     “You feel... like a dream.” Helena said breathlessly. Her fingers dug almost painfully into the bones of her hips and Myka's moan, this time full and intact, was matched by one of H.G.'s own making. Myka screwed her already closed eyes more tightly shut and disentangled a hand from the bedspread, pressing it against the shoulder of the woman below her. Levering her, anchoring her, as she immediately bunched the material of Helena's shirt between her fingers and then rocked her hips more firmly against a toned thigh. Helena's tongue flicked lazily along her lower lip and Myka was drawn into a kiss that she could taste and feel and see and smell. She was hyper aware of every little movement; every brush of Helena's thumbs against her skin, the way her movements sent waves of boiling desire crashing through her. It was indescribable.  
     Ironically, it was the fuzziness of her head that provided her with a moment of clarity, and with what she was certain was the same amount of force that would be required in order to wrench the sun down from the heavens, she broke the kiss. Panting, she pressed her forehead against Helena's and gave the woman's shoulder a squeeze that was too harsh to be reassuring. Almost enough to be pleading. Just enough to be steadying.  
     “Can't.” She said, eventually, and rolled off of Helena. The dazed Englishwoman with the kiss-swollen lips regarded her from beneath hooded lids as she turned her head to face her. Myka wrestled herself out of the shirt she was wearing, tossed it absently towards the end of the bed, and then slithered under the covers, stifling a yawn. The events of the day had rather rapidly caught up with her, the effects of the artifact not helping with that in the slightest. Helena did not moved, simply blinked in a manner that she herself would have been first to describe as 'stupid'.  
     “Why?” She asked, unable to find enough strength to muster up a wordier response. At first Myka didn't answer, only wiggled closer to the other woman, curling against her form and resting a head on her shoulder.  
     “Want to remember.” She mumbled sleepily into the crook of Helena's neck.  
     And maybe it was the fact that she was still flying high, for one reason or another, but for once Helena was quite content with not questioning any further.

* * *

     The first thing Myka registered as the bleary-eyed presence of awareness began to pull at her, was warmth. She felt cocooned, cosy and safe. She murmured a sigh of contentment, not conscious she was making any sound at all, and snuggled closer to the body she was wrapped around.  
     Her eyes popped open.  
     Hair the colour of midnight spilled down alongside an elegant, alabaster neck, draping across a shirt-clad shoulder and edging onto the pale and freckled skin of a distinctly female torso. Dark eyes were watching her with a curious intensity and for a fraction of a second, Myka's entire body tensed like a coil ready to spring forth. And spring she did.  
     She flung herself away from the body beside her, but tangled in the sheets she didn't manage to make it very far. She glanced down and it was then that she noticed that her clothes were decidedly absent.  
     “Oh my god.” Her words came out breathless, hoarse from sleep, and seeing the tone as one unable to do her feelings justice, she repeated herself with about twenty times the vehemence. “Oh my **god**. I'm naked. I'm **naked** , Helena.” Her green eyes were wide, disbelief filling them.  
     “Yes, I had noticed.” Helena commented dryly and Myka might have slapped her had she not been fiercely clutching the sheets in both hands. She wagged a finger, as frantically as possible, between the two of them.  
     “Did we-- we didn't, did we?” Helena raised her eyebrows and stared at Myka for a moment, wearing an expression that was maddeningly unreadable. She let out her breath in a noisy exhalation and tilted her head to one side.  
     “If you're asking whether or not we made love,” she paused for what Myka was almost certain was dramatic effect, “I can assure you that the answer is no.” Myka blew out a loud sigh of relief, but it tapered off at the end, sputtering a little.  
     “How? I mean, how can you be sure?” At that, Helena shot her a wry smile.  
     “Such a tryst I would most definitely remember.” Myka felt herself warm. “And I'm confident enough in my skills to guarantee that you'd find such events near impossible not to recall either.” How was it that H.G. Wells was as cocky as ever at this time of the morning? Myka gave a short, strangled cry and fell back against the mattress.  
     “You are impossible.” She said bringing her hands up to cup her cheeks as she tried to send her brain back to the night before and pull up the files her memory seemed to have misplaced. The artifact – Queen Victoria's hooka – they'd both been affected by it. Oh god, she'd been **so** high.  
     “I'm incorrigible.” Helena corrected, sly smile beginning to fade at the corners as she peered down at Myka, concern starting to show. “Are you quite all right?” Myka flicked her eyes to the dark orbs gazing at her and she tried desperately to suppress the shiver that pointedly ignored her and slid along her back like her spine was the fun slide at Chuck E Cheese's. And just like that, the shiver brought along the memory of one similar and everything else came crashing back. She heaved a sigh and curved her lips into a weak smile.  
     “Besides the fact that I'm suffering from a potentially fatal case of embarrassment?” Helena's smile returned full force, dazzling Myka for a second. Her stomach rolled pleasantly as a little voice at the back of her mind reminded her that she hadn't been the sole participant in the previous night's events. And all the flirtations and the teasing and the feelings hadn't exactly spontaneously appeared out of thin air either. “Yeah, I'm fine.” She rolled onto her side and spent a few moments regarding H.G. silently before she voiced the question that was nagging at her. “Do you remember?” The inventor's lips quirked at the corners, almost imperceptibly.  
     “Rather difficult to forget.” Myka's face contorted and she turned her head into the pillow to release the wail of mortification that had bubbled up at H.G.'s words. When she looked back, H.G. was thumbing the locket about her neck. The notion that Helena might be as anxious about this situation as she was hadn't even occurred to her and Myka felt suddenly terrible.  
     “I don't,” she started without thinking, stalled long enough to gather her thoughts, and then tried again. “The only thing I regret,” she said, carefully, watching Helena's face closely, “is that it all seems a bit too fuzzy to have been real.” A long and almost painful pause followed her minute speech. Myka could hear her heart hammering in her chest and it made her head ache. She watched the rise and fall of Helena's chest in her periphery and made a conscious effort not to gnaw away at her lower lip as the seconds ticked by.  
     “I suppose next time we should ensure the chances of our becoming inebriated are minimal then, yes?”  
     Myka's smile was as bright and brilliant as the sun.  
     With a nod of affirmation, she slowly scooted back towards the other woman and tentatively lay her head back on Helena's chest. She brought a hand from its place at the top of the sheets and, only a little awkwardly, dropped it to rest against the flat expanse of Helena's bare stomach. The inventor inhaled sharply and then tried to cover it with a chuckle. Myka's smile widened.  
     “How is it that it's always the **other** woman in my bed who awakens stark naked when this happens?” H.G. mused, draping an arm around Myka's shoulders and tracing patterns across the exposed skin her fingertips found. Myka gave a shaky laugh.  
     “Oh please, you could charm the pants off the Pope and you know it.” And Helena smirked, though it went unseen.  
     “The only person I have a vested interest in charming anything off of-” Myka reached up, blindly pressing her fingers to Helena's lips and eyeing the slip of flesh visible between the dark material of her parted shirt. She felt the slight pressure of H.G.'s lips as they pressed a kiss against her fingertips.  
     “Later.” She promised, drawing her hand back and closing her eyes. Her heart was pounding again, a giddy light-headedness filling her once more. “I don't think I've quite come down yet.”


End file.
